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Mary  Raymond  Shipman  Andrews 
The  Perfect  Tribute 
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the  Commonplace 
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Old  Glory 

Maltbie  Davenport  Babcock 
The  Success  of  Defeat 

Katharine  Holland  Brown 
The  Messenger 

Richard  Harding  Davis 
The  Consul 
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Marion  Harland 

Looking  Westward 

Robert  Herrick 

The  Master  of  the  Inn 
The  Conscript  Mother 

Frederick  Landis 

The  Angel  of  Lonesome  Hill 

Francis  E.  Leupp 

A  Day  with  Father 

Alice  Duer  Miller 
Things 

Thomas  Nelson  Page 

The  Stranger's  Pew 
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by  Night 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

A  Christmas  Sermon 
Prayers  Written  at  Vailima 
j£s  Triplex 
Father  Damien 

laobel  Strong 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Henry  van  Dyke. 

The  School  of  Life 
The  Spirit  of  Christmas 
The  Sad  Shepherd 
The  First  Christmas  Tree 
The  Lost  Word 


THE    LOST   WORD 


OF  CAtlF.  LIBRARY.  I-OS 


'TAKE  THIS  TO  JOHN  OF  ANTIOCH,  AND  TELI,  HIM 
IT  IS  A  GIFT  FROM  HIS  FORMER  PUPIL." 


THE  LOST  WORD 

A    CHRISTMAS    LEGEND 
OF    LONG    AGO 


BY 
HENRY   VAN   DYKE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1917 


Copyright,  1898,   by  Charles  Scribners  Sons 


V3U 


DEDICATED 

TO   MY   FRIEND 

HAMILTON   W.   MABIE 


21334B8 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


7.  The  Poverty  of  Hermas    .      .  1 

II.  A  Christmas  Loss  ....  23 

777.  Parting,  but  no  Farewell  .      .  37 

IV.  Love  in  Search  of  a  Word     .  47 

V.  Riches  without  Rest     ...  65 

VI.  Great  Fear  and  Recovered  Joy  77 


I 

THE    POVERTY    OF    HERMAS 


"CoME  down,  Hernias,  come  down ! 
The  night  is  past.  It  is  time  to  be 
stirring.  Christ  is  born  to-day.  Peace 
be  with  you  in  His  name.  Make 
haste  and  come  down!" 

A  little  group  of  young  men  were 
standing  in  a  street  of  Antioch,  in 
the  dusk  of  early  morning,  fifteen 
hundred  years  ago.  It  was  a  class  of 
candidates  who  had  nearly  finished 
their  two  years  of  training  for  the 
Christian  church.  They  had  come  to 
call  their  fellow-student  Hernias  from 
his  lodging. 

Their  voices  rang  out  cheerily 
through  the  cool  air.  They  were  full 
of  that  glad  sense  of  life  which  the 


THE  LOST  WORD 

young  feel  when  they  awake  and 
come  to  rouse  one  who  is  still  sleep- 
ing. There  was  a  note  of  friendly 
triumph  in  their  call,  as  if  they  were 
exulting  unconsciously  in  having  be- 
gun the  adventure  of  the  new  day 
before  their  comrade. 

But  Hernias  was  not  asleep.  He 
had  been  waking  for  hours,  and  the 
dark  walls  of  his  narrow  lodging  had 
been  a  prison  to  his  restless  heart. 
A  nameless  sorrow  and  discontent 
had  fallen  upon  him,  and  he  could 
find  no  escape  from  the  heaviness  of 
his  own  thoughts. 

There  is  a  sadness  of  youth  into 
which  the  old  cannot  enter.  It  seems 
to  them  unreal  and  causeless.  But  it 
is  even  more  bitter  and  burdensome 
than  the  sadness  of  age.  There  is  a 
sting  of  resentment  in  it,  a  fever  of 
4 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

angry  surprise  that  the  world  should 
so  soon  be  a  disappointment,  and 
life  so  early  take  on  the  look  of  a 
failure.  It  has  little  reason  in  it, 
perhaps,  but  it  has  all  the  more 
weariness  and  gloom,  because  the 
man  \vho  is  oppressed  by  it  feels 
dimly  that  it  is  an  unnatural  and  an 
unreasonable  thing,  that  he  should 
be  separated  from  the  joy  of  his 
companions,  and  tired  of  living  be- 
fore he  has  fairly  begun  to  live. 

Hernias  had  fallen  into  the  very 
depths  of  this  strange  self-pity.  He 
was  out  of  tune  with  everything 
around  him.  He  had  been  thinking, 
through  the  dead,  still  night,  of  all 
that  he  had  given  up  when  he  left 
the  house  of  his  father,  the  wealthy 
pagan  Demetrius,  to  join  the  com- 
pany of  the  Christians.  Only  two 
5 


THE  LOST  WORD 

years  ago  he  had  been  one  of  the 
richest  young  men  in  Antioch.  Now 
he  was  one  of  the  poorest.  And  the 
worst  of  it  was  that,  though  he  had 
made  the  choice  willingly  and  ac- 
cepted the  sacrifice  with  a  kind  of 
enthusiasm,  he  was  already  dissatis- 
fied with  it. 

The  new  life  was  no  happier  than 
the  old.  He  was  weary  of  vigils  and 
fasts,  weary  of  studies  and  penances, 
weary  of  prayers  and  sermons.  He 
felt  like  a  slave  in  a  treadmill.  He 
knew  that  he  must  go  on.  His 
honour,  his  conscience,  his  sense  of 
duty,  bound  him.  He  could  not  go 
back  to  the  old  careless  pagan  life 
again;  for  something  had  happened 
within  him  which  made  a  return  im- 
possible. Doubtless  he  had  found  the 
true  religion,  but  he  had  found  it 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

only  as  a  task  and  a  burden;  its  joy 
and  peace  had  slipped  away  from 
him. 

He  felt  disillusioned  and  robbed. 
He  sat  beside  his  hard  little  couch, 
waiting  without  expectancy  for  the 
gray  dawn  of  another  empty  day, 
and  hardly  lifting  his  head  at  the 
shouts  of  his  friends. 

"Come  down,  Hernias,  you  slug- 
gard !  Come  down !  It  is  Christmas 
morn.  Awake  and  be  glad  with  us !" 

"I  am  coming,"  he  answered  list- 
lessly; "only  have  patience  a  mo- 
ment. I  have  been  awake  since  mid- 
night, and  waiting  for  the  day." 

"You  hear  him!"  said  his  friends 
one  to  another.  "How  he  puts  us  all 
to  shame  !  He  is  more  watchful,  more 
eager,  than  any  of  us.  Our  master, 
John  the  Presbyter,  does  well  to  be 

7 


THE  LOST  WORD 

proud  of  him.  He  is  the  best  man  in 
our  class.  When  he  is  baptized  the 
church  will  get  a  strong  member." 

While  they  were  talking  the  door 
opened  and  Hernias  stepped  out. 
He  was  a  figure  to  be  remarked  in 
any  company — tall,  broad-shoul- 
dered, straight-hipped,  with  a  head 
proudly  poised  on  the  firm  column 
of  the  neck,  and  short  brown  curls 
clustering  over  the  square  forehead. 
It  was  the  perpetual  type  of  vigour- 
ous  and  intelligent  young  manhood, 
such  as  may  be  found  in  every  cen- 
tury among  the  throngs  of  ordinary 
men,  as  if  to  show  what  the  flower 
of  the  race  should  be.  But  the  light 
in  his  dark  blue  eyes  was  clouded 
and  uncertain;  his  smooth  cheeks 
were  leaner  than  they  should  have 
been  at  twenty;  and  there  were 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

downward  lines  about  his  mouth 
which  spoke  of  desires  unsatisfied 
and  ambitions  repressed.  He  joined 
his  companions  with  brief  greetings, 
— a  nod  to  one,  a  word  to  another, — 
and  they  passed  together  down  the 
steep  street. 

Overhead  the  mystery  of  daybreak 
was  silently  transfiguring  the  sky. 
The  curtain  of  darkness  had  lifted 
softly  upward  along  the  edge  of  the 
horizon.  The  ragged  crests  of  Mount 
Silpius  were  outlined  with  pale  rosy 
light.  In  the  central  vault  of  heaven 
a  few  large  stars  twinkled  drowsily. 
The  great  city,  still  chiefly  pagan, 
lay  more  than  half  asleep.  But  mul- 
titudes of  the  Christians,  dressed  in 
white  and  carrying  lighted  torches 
in  their  hands,  were  hurrying  toward 
the  Basilica  of  Constantine  to  keep 


THE  LOST  WORD 

the  latest  holy  day  of  the  church,  the 
new  festival  of  the  birthday  of  their 
Master. 

The  vast,  bare  building  was  soon 
crowded,  and  the  younger  converts, 
who  were  not  yet  permitted  to  stand 
among  the  baptized,  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  come  to  their  appointed  place 
between  the  first  two  pillars  of  the 
house,  just  within  the  threshold. 
There  was  some  good-humoured 
pressing  and  jostling  about  the  door; 
but  the  candidates  pushed  steadily 
forward. 

"By  your  leave,  friends,  our  station 
is  beyond  you.  Will  you  let  us  pass  ? 
Many  thanks." 

A  touch  here,  a  courteous  nod 
there,  a  little  patience,  a  little  per- 
sistence, and  at  last  they  stood  in 
their  place.  Hernias  was  taller  than 
10 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

his  companions;  he  could  look  easily 
over  their  heads  and  survey  the  white 
sea  of  people  stretching  away  through 
the  columns,  under  the  shadows  of 
the  high  roof,  as  the  tide  spreads  on 
a  calm  day  into  the  pillared  cavern  of 
Staffa,  quiet  as  if  the  ocean  hardly 
dared  to  breathe.  The  light  of  many 
flambeaux  fell,  in  flickering,  uncer- 
tain rays,  over  the  assembly.  At  the 
end  of  the  vista  there  was  a  circle  of 
clearer,  steadier  radiance.  Hernias 
could  see  the  bishop  in  his  great 
chair,  surrounded  by  the  presbyters, 
the  lofty  desks  on  either  side  for  the 
readers  of  the  Scripture,  the  com- 
munion-table and  the  table  of  offer- 
ings in  the  middle  of  the  church. 

The  call  to  prayer  sounded  down 

the  long  aisle.  Thousands  of  hands 

were  joyously  lifted  in  the  air,  as  if 

11 


THE  LOST  WORD 

the  sea  had  blossomed  into  waving 
lilies,  and  the  "Amen"  was  like  the 
murmur  of  countless  ripples  in  an 
echoing  place. 

Then  the  singing  began,  led  by  the 
choir  of  a  hundred  trained  voices 
which  the  Bishop  Paul  had  founded 
in  Antioch.  Timidly,  at  first,  the 
music  felt  its  way,  as  the  people 
joined  with  a  broken  and  uncertain 
cadence,  the  mingling  of  many  little 
waves  not  yet  gathered  into  rhythm 
and  harmony.  Soon  the  longer, 
stronger  billows  of  song  rolled  in, 
sweeping  from  side  to  side  as  the 
men  and  the  women  answered  in  the 
clear  antiphony. 

Hernias  had  often  been  carried  on 
those 

"  Tides  of  music's  golden  sea 

Setting  toward  eternity." 

12 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

But  to-day  his  heart  was  a  rock  that 
stood  motionless.  The  flood  passed 
by  and  left  him  unmoved. 

Looking  out  from  his  place  at  the 
foot  of  the  pillar,  he  saw  a  man 
standing  far  off  in  the  lofty  bema. 
Short  and  slender,  wasted  by  sick- 
ness, gray  before  his  time,  with  pale 
cheeks  and  wrinkled  brow,  he  seemed 
at  first  like  a  person  of  no  significance 
— a  reed  shaken  in  the  wind.  But 
there  was  a  look  in  his  deep-set, 
poignant  eyes,  as  he  gathered  all  the 
glances  of  the  multitude  to  himself, 
that  belied  his  mean  appearance  and 
prophesied  power.  Hernias  knew  very 
well  who  it  was:  the  man  who  had 
drawn  him  from  his  father's  house, 
the  teacher  who  was  instructing  him 
as  a  son  in  the  Christian  faith,  the 
guide  and  trainer  of  his  soul — John 

13 


THE  LOST  WORD 

of  Antioch,  whose  fame  filled  the  city 
and  began  to  overflow  Asia,  and  who 
was  called  already  Chrysostom,  the 
golden-mouthed  preacher.  i 

Hernias  had  felt  the  magic  of  hir^ 
eloquence  many  a  time;  and  to-day, 
as  the  tense  voice  vibrated  through 
the  stillness,  and  the  sentences  moved 
onward,  growing  fuller  and  stronger, 
bearing  argosies  of  costly  rhetoric 
and  treasures  of  homely  speech  in 
their  bosom,  and  drawing  the  hearts 
of  men  with  a  resistless  magic, 
Hernias  knew  that  the  preacher  had 
never  been  more  potent,  more  in- 
spired. 

He  played  on  that  immense  con- 
gregation as  a  master  on  an  instru- 
ment. He  rebuked  their  sins,  and 
they  trembled.  He  touched  their  sor- 
rows, and  they  wept.  He  spoke  of 

14 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

the  conflicts,  the  triumphs,  the  glories 
of  their  faith,  and  they  broke  out  in 
thunders  of  applause.  He  hushed 
them  into  reverent  silence,  and  led 
tl  em  tenderly,  with  the  wise  men  of 
the  East,  to  the  lowly  birthplace  of 
Jesus. 

'  "Do  thou,  therefore,  likewise  leave 
the  Jewish  people,  the  troubled  city, 
the  blood-thirsty  tyrant,  the  pomp 
of  the  world,  and  hasten  to  Bethle- 
hem, the  sweet  house  of  spiritual 
bread.  For  though  thou  be  but  a 
shepherd,  and  come  hither,  thou 
shall  behold  Ihe  young  Child  in  an 
inn.  Though  thou  be  a  king,  and  come 
not  hilher,  thy  purple  robe  shall 
profit  thee  nothing.  Though  thou  be 
one  of  the  wise  men,  this  shall  be  no 
hindrance  lo  thee.  Only  let  thy  com- 
ing be  to  honour  and  adore,  with 

15 


THE  LOST  WORD 

trembling  joy,  the  Son  of  God,  to 
whose  name  be  glory,  on  this  His 
birthday,  and  forever  and  forever." 

The  soul  of  Hernias  did  not  answer 
to  the  musician's  touch.  The  strings 
of  his  heart  were  slack  and  soundless; 
there  was  no  response  within  him. 
He  was  neither  shepherd,  nor  king, 
nor  wise  man;  only  an  unhappy,  dis- 
satisfied, questioning  youth.  He  was 
out  of  sympathy  with  the  eager 
preacher,  the  joyous  hearers.  In 
their  harmony  he  had  no  part.  Was 
it  for  this  that  he  had  forsaken  his 
inheritance  and  narrowed  his  life  to 
poverty  and  hardship?  What  was  it 
all  worth? 

The  gracious  prayers  with  which 
the  young  converts  were  blessed  and 
dismissed  before  the  sacrament 
sounded  hollow  in  his  ears.  Never 

16 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

had  he  felt  so  utterly  lonely  as  in 
that  praying  throng.  He  went  out 
with  his  companions  like  a  man  de- 
parting from  a  banquet  where  all  but 
he  had  been  fed. 

"Farewell,  Hernias,"  they  cried,  as 
he  turned  from  them  at  the  door. 
But  he  did  not  look  back,  nor  wave 
his  hand.  He  was  alone  already  in 
his  heart. 

When  he  entered  the  broad  Avenue 
of  the  Colonnades,  the  sun  had 
already  topped  the  eastern  hills, 
and  the  ruddy  light  was  streaming 
through  the  long  double  row  of 
archways  and  over  the  pavements  of 
crimson  marble.  But  Hernias  turned 
his  back  to  the  morning,  and  walked 
with  his  shadow  before  him. 

The   street   began   to   swarm   and 

17 


THE  LOST  WORD 

whirl  and  quiver  with  the  motley 
life  of  a  huge  city:  beggars  and  jug- 
glers, dancers  and  musicians,  gilded 
youths  in  their  chariots,  and  daugh- 
ters of  joy  looking  out  from  their 
windows,  all  intoxicated  with  the 
mere  delight  of  living  and  the  glad- 
ness of  a  new  day.  The  pagan  popu- 
lace of  Antioch — reckless,  pleasure- 
loving,  spendthrift — were  preparing 
for  the  Saturnalia.  But  all  this 
Hernias  had  renounced.  He  cleft  his 
way  through  the  crowd  slowly,  like  a 
reluctant  swimmer  weary  of  breast- 
ing the  tide. 

At  the  corner  of  the  street  where 
the  narrow,  populous  Lane  of  the 
Camel-drivers  crossed  the  Colon- 
nades, a  story-teller  had  bewitched  a 
circle  of  people  around  him.  It  was 
the  same  old  tale  of  love  and  adven- 

18 


THE   POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

ture  that  many  generations  have  lis- 
tened to;  but  the  lively  fancy  of  the 
hearers  lent  it  new  interest,  and  the 
wit  of  the  improviser  drew  forth 
sighs  of  interest  and  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter. 

A  yellow-haired  girl  on  the  edge  of 
the  throng  turned,  as  Hernias  passed, 
and  smiled  in  his  face.  She  put  out 
her  hand  and  caught  him  by  the 
sleeve. 

"Stay,"  she  said,  "and  laugh  a  bit 
with  us.  I  know  who  you  are — the 
son  of  Demetrius.  You  must  have 
bags  of  gold.  Why  do  you  look  so 
black?  Love  is  alive  yet." 

Hernias  shook  off  her  hand,  but  not 
ungently. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he 
said.  "You  are  mistaken  in  me.  I  am 
poorer  than  you  are." 

19 


THE  LOST  WORD 

But  as  he  passed  on,  he  felt  the 
warm  touch  of  her  fingers  through 
the  cloth  on  his  arm.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  had  plucked  him  by  the  heart. 

He  went  out  by  the  Western  Gate, 
under  the  golden  cherubim  that  the 
Emperor  Titus  had  stolen  from  the 
ruined  Temple  of  Jerusalem  and 
fixed  upon  the  arch  of  triumph.  He 
turned  to  the  left,  and  climbed  the 
hill  to  the  road  that  led  to  the  Grove 
of  Daphne. 

In  all  the  world  there  was  no  other 
highway  as  beautiful.  It  wound  for 
five  miles  along  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  among  gardens  and  villas, 
plantations  of  myrtles  and  mul- 
berries, with  wide  outlooks  over  the 
valley  of  Orontes  and  the  distant, 
shimmering  sea. 

The  richest  of  all  the  dwellings  was 


THE  POVERTY  OF  HERMAS 

the  House  of  the  Golden  Pillars,  the 
mansion  of  Demetrius.  He  had  won 
the  favour  of  the  apostate  Emperor 
Julian,  whose  vain  efforts  to  restore 
the  worship  of  the  heathen  gods, 
some  twenty  years  ago,  had  opened 
an  easy  way  to  wealth  and  power  for 
all  who  would  mock  and  oppose 
Christianity.  Demetrius  was  not  a 
sincere  fanatic  like  his  royal  master; 
but  he  was  bitter  enough  in  his  pro- 
fessed scorn  of  the  new  religion,  to 
make  him  a  favourite  at  the  court 
where  the  old  religion  was  in  fashion. 
He  had  reaped  a  rich  reward  of  his 
policy,  and  a  strange  sense  of  con- 
sistency made  him  more  fiercely 
loyal  to  it  than  if  it  had  been  a  real 
faith.  He  was  proud  of  being  called 
"the  friend  of  Julian";  and  when  his 
son  joined  himself  to  the  Christians, 

21 


THE  LOST  WORD 

and  acknowledged  the  unseen  God, 
it  seemed  like  an  insult  to  his  father's 
success.  He  drove  the  boy  from  his 
door  and  disinherited  him. 

The  glittering  portico  of  the  serene, 
haughty  house,  the  repose  of  the 
well-ordered  garden,  still  blooming 
with  belated  flowers,  seemed  at  once 
to  deride  and  to  invite  the  young 
outcast  plodding  along  the  dusty 
road.  "This  is  your  birthright," 
whispered  the  clambering  rose-trees 
by  the  gate;  and  the  closed  portals 
of  carven  bronze  said:  "You  have 
sold  it  for  a  thought — a  dream." 


II 

A  CHRISTMAS  LOSS 


n 

HERMAS  found  the  Grove  of  Daphne 
quite  deserted.  There  was  no  sound 
in  the  enchanted  vale  but  the  rus- 
tling of  the  light  winds  chasing  each 
other  through  the  laurel  thickets,  and 
the  babble  of  innumerable  streams. 
Memories  of  the  days  and  nights  of 
delicate  pleasure  that  the  grove  had 
often  seen  still  haunted  the  bewil- 
dered paths  and  broken  fountains. 
At  the  foot  of  a  rocky  eminence,1 
crowned  with  the  ruins  of  Apollo's 
temple,  which  had  been  mysteriously 
destroyed  by  fire  just  after  Julian 
had  restored  and  reconsecrated  it, 
Hermas  sat  down  beside  a  gushing 
spring,  and  gave  himself  up  to  sad- 
ness. 

25 


THE  LOST  WORD 

"How  beautiful  the  world  would 
be,  how  joyful,  how  easy  to  live  in, 
without  religion !  These  questions 
about  unseen  things,  perhaps  about 
unreal  things,  these  restraints  and 
duties  and  sacrifices — if  I  were  only 
free  from  them  all,  and  could  only 
forget  them  all,  then  I  could  live  my 
life  as  I  pleased,  and  be  happy." 

"Why  not?"  said  a  quiet  voice  at 
his  back. 

He  turned,  and  saw  an  old  man  with 
a  long  beard  and  a  threadbare  cloak 
(the  garb  affected  by  the  pagan  phi- 
losophers) standing  behind  him  and 
smiling  curiously. 

"How  is  it  that  you  answer  that 
which  has  not  been  spoken?"  said 
Hernias;  "and  who  are  you  that 
honour  me  with  your  company?" 

"Forgive  the  intrusion,"  answered 
26 


A  CHRISTMAS  LOSS 

the  stranger;  "it  is  not  ill  meant.  A 
friendly  interest  is  as  good  as  an  in- 
troduction." 

"But  to  what  singular  circumstance 
do  I  owe  this  interest?" 

"To  your  face,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  courteous  inclination.  "Per- 
haps also  a  little  to  the  fact  that  I 
am  the  oldest  inhabitant  here,  and 
feel  as  if  all  visitors  were  my  guests, 
in  a  way." 

"Are  you,  then,  one  of  the  keepers 
of  the  grove?  And  have  you  given 
up  your  work  with  the  trees  to  take 
a  holiday  as  a  philosopher?" 

"Not  at  all.  The  robe  of  philosophy 
is  a  mere  affectation,  I  must  confess. 
I  think  little  of  it.  My  profession  is 
the  care  of  altars.  In  fact,  I  am  that 
solitary  priest  of  Apollo  whom  the 
Emperor  Julian  found  here  when  he 

27 


THE  LOST  WORD 

came  to  revive  the  worship  of  the 
grove,  some  twenty  years  ago.  You 
have  heard  of  the  incident?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hernias,  beginning  to 
be  interested;  "the  whole  city  must 
have  heard  of  it,  for  it  is  still  talked 
of.  But  surely  it  was  a  strange  sac- 
rifice that  you  brought  to  celebrate 
the  restoration  of  Apollo's  temple?" 

"You  mean  the  goose?  Well,  per- 
haps it  was  not  precisely  what  the 
emperor  expected.  But  it  was  all 
that  I  had,  and  it  seemed  to  me  not 
inappropriate.  You  will  agree  to  that 
if  you  are  a  Christian,  as  I  guess  from 
your  dress." 

"You  speak  lightly  for  a  priest  of 
Apollo." 

"Oh,  as  for  that,  I  am  no  bigot. 
The  priesthood  is  a  professional  mat- 
ter, and  the  name  of  Apollo  is  as 

28 


A  CHRISTMAS  LOSS 

good  as  any  other.  How  many  altars 
do  you  think  there  have  been  in  this 

?9« 
w 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Just  four-and-twenty,  including 
that  of  the  martyr  Babylas,  whose 
ruined  chapel  you  see  just  beyond 
us.  I  have  had  something  to  do  with 
most  of  them  in  my  time.  They  are 
transitory.  They  give  employment  to 
care-takers  for  a  while.  But  the 
thing  that  lasts,  and  the  thing  that 
interests  me,  is  the  human  life  that 
plays  around  them.  The  game  has 
been  going  on  for  centuries.  It  still 
disports  itself  very  pleasantly  on 
summer  evenings  through  these 
shady  walks.  Believe  me,  for  I  know. 
Daphne  and  Apollo  were  shadows. 
But  the  flying  maidens  and  the  pur- 
suing lovers,  the  music  and  the 

29 


THE  LOST  WORD 

dances,  these  are  the  realities.  Life 
is  the  game,  and  the  world  keeps  it 
up  merrily.  But  you  ?  You  are,  of  a 
sad  countenance  for  one  so  young 
and  so  fair.  Are  you  a  loser  in  the 
game  ?  " 

The  words  and  tone  of  the  speaker 
fitted  Hernias'  mood  as  a  key  fits 
the  lock.  He  opened  his  heart  to  the 
old  man,  and  told  him  the  story  of 
his  life :  his  luxurious  boyhood  in  his 
father's  house;  the  irresistible  spell 
which  compelled  him  to  forsake  it 
when  he  heard  John's  preaching  of 
the  new  religion;  his  lonely  year 
with  the  anchorites  among  the  moun- 
tains; the  strict  discipline  in  his 
teacher's  house  at  Antioch;  his 
weariness  of  duty,  his  distaste  for 
poverty,  his  discontent  with  worship. 

"And   to-day,"    said   he,    "I   have 


A  CHRISTMAS  LOSS 

been  thinking  that  I  ^,m  a  fool.  My 
life  is  swept  as  bare  as  a  hermit's  cell. 
There  is  nothing  in  it  but  a  dream, 
a  thought  of  God,  which  does  not 
satisfy  me." 

The  singular  smile  deepened  on  his 
companion's  face.  "You  are  ready, 
then,"  he  suggested,  "to  renounce 
your  new  religion  and  go  back  to 
that  of  your  father?" 

"No;  I  renounce  nothing,  I  accept 
nothing.  I  do  not  wrish  to  think 
about  it.  I  only  wish  to  live." 

"A  very  reasonable  wish,  and  I 
think  you  are  about  to  see  its  ac- 
complishment. Indeed,  I  may  even 
say  that  I  can  put  you  in  the  wray 
of  securing  it.  Do  you  believe  in 
magic?" 

"I  have  told  you  already  that  I  do 
not  know  whether  I  believe  in  any- 

31 


THE  LOST  WORD 

thing.  This  is  not  a  day  on  which  I 
care  to  make  professions  of  faith.  I 
believe  in  what  I  see.  I  want  what 
will  give  me  pleasure." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  sooth- 
ingly, as  he  plucked  a  leaf  from  the 
laurel-tree  above  them  and  dipped 
it  in  the  spring,  "let  us  dismiss  the 
riddles  of  belief.  I  like  them  as  little 
as  you  do.  You  know  this  is  a  Cas- 
talian  fountain.  The  Emperor  Ha- 
drian once  read  his  fortune  here  from 
a  leaf  dipped  in  the  water.  Let  us  see 
what  this  leaf  tells  us.  It  is  already 
turning  yellow.  How  do  you  read 
that?" 

"Wealth,"  said  Hernias,  laughing, 
as  he  looked  at  his  mean  garments. 

"And  here  is  a  bud  on  the  stem 
that  seems  to  be  swelling.  What  is 
that?" 


A  CHRISTMAS  LOSS 

"Pleasure,"  answered  Hermas,  bit- 
terly. 

"And  here  is  a  tracing  of  wreaths 
upon  the  surface.  What  do  you  make 
of  that?" 

"What  you  will,"  said  Hermas,  not 
even  taking  the  trouble  to  look. 
"Suppose  we  say  success  and  fame ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  stranger;  "it  is  all 
written  here.  I  promise  that  you  shall 
enjoy  it  all.  But  you  do  not  need  to 
believe  in  my  promise.  I  am  not  in 
the  habit  of  requiring  faith  of  those 
whom  I  would  serve.  No  such  hard 
conditions  for  me !  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  I  ask.  This  is  the  season 
that  you  Christians  call  the  Christ- 
mas, and  you  have  taken  up  the 
pagan  custom  of  exchanging  gifts. 
Well,  if  I  give  to  you,  you  must  give 
to  me.  It  is  a  small  thing,  and  really 

33 


THE  LOST  WORD 

the  thing  you  can  best  afford  to  part 
with:  a  single  word — the  name  of 
Him  you  profess  to  worship.  Let  me 
take  that  word  and  all  that  belongs 
to  it  entirely  out  of  your  life,  so  that 
you  shall  never  need  to  hear  it  or 
speak  it  again.  You  will  be  richer 
without  it.  I  promise  you  everything, 
and  this  is  all  I  ask  in  return.  Do 
you  consent?" 

"Yes,  I  consent,"  said  Hernias, 
mocking.  "If  you  can  take  your 
price,  a  word,  you  can  keep  your 
promise,  a  dream." 

The  stranger  laid  the  long,  cool,  wet 
leaf  softly  across  the  young  man's 
eyes.  An  icicle  of  pain  darted  through 
them;  every  nerve  in  his  body  was 
drawn  together  there  in  a  knot  of 
agony. 

Then  all  the  tangle  of  pain  seemed 
34 


A  CHRISTMAS  LOSS 

to  be  lifted  out  of  him.  A  cool  lan- 
guor of  delight  flowed  back  through 
every  vein,  and  he  sank  into  a  pro- 
found sleep. 


Ill 

PARTING,  BUT  NO  FAREWELL 


Ill 

THERE  is  a  slumber  so  deep  that  it 
annihilates  time.  It  is  like  a  frag- 
ment of  eternity.  Beneath  its  en- 
chantment of  vacancy,  a  day  seems 
like  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thou- 
sand years  might  well  pass  as  one 
day. 

It  was  such  a  sleep  that  fell  upon 
Hernias  in  the  Grove  of  Daphne. 
An  immeasurable  period,  an  interval 
of  life  so  blank  and  empty  that  he 
could  not  tell  whether  it  was  long 
or  short,  had  passed  over  him  when 
his  senses  began -to  stir  again.  The 
setting  sun  was  shooting  arrows  of 
gold  under  the  glossy  laurel-leaves. 
He  rose  and  stretched  his  arms, 

39 


THE  LOST  WORD 

grasping  a  smooth  branch  above 
him  and  shaking  it,  to  make  sure 
that  he  was  alive.  Then  he  hur- 
ried back  toward  Antioch,  treading 
lightly  as  if  on  air. 

The  ground  seemed  to  spring  be- 
neath his  feet.  Already  his  life  had 
changed,  he  knew  not  how.  Some- 
thing that  did  not  belong  to  him  had 
dropped  away;  he  had  returned  to  a 
former  state  of  being.  He  felt  as  if 
anything  might  happen  to  him,  and 
he  was  ready  for  anything.  He  was  a 
new  man,  yet  curiously  familiar  to 
himself — as  if  he  had  done  with 
playing  a  tiresome  part  and  returned 
to  his  natural  state.  He  was  buoy- 
ant and  free,  without  a  care,  a  doubt, 
a  fear. 

As  he  drew  near  to  his  father's 
house  he  saw  a  confusion  of  servants 

40 


PARTING,  BUT  NO  FAREWELL 

in  the  porch,  and  the  old  steward 
ran  down  to  meet  him  at  the  gate. 

"Lord,  we  have  been  seeking  you 
everywhere.  The  master  is  at  the 
point  of  death,  and  has  sent  for  you. 
Since  the  sixth  hour  he  calls  your 
name  continually.  Come  to  him 
quickly,  lord,  for  I  fear  the  time  is 
short." 

Hernias  entered  the  house  at  once; 
nothing  could  amaze  him  to-day. 
His  father  lay  on  an  ivory  couch  in 
the  inmost  chamber,  with  shrunken 
face  and  restless  eyes,  his  lean  fingers 
picking  incessantly  at  the  silken 
coverlet. 

"My  son!"  he  murmured;  "Her- 
nias, my  son  !  It  is  good  that  you 
have  come  back  to  me.  I  have  missed 
you.  I  was  wrong  to  send  you  away. 
You  shall  never  leave  me  again. 
41 


THE   LOST  WORD 

You  are  my  son,  my  heir.  I  have 
changed  everything.  Hernias,  my 
son,  come  nearer — close  beside  me. 
Take  my  hand,  my  son !" 

The  young  man  obeyed,  and,  kneel- 
ing by  the  couch,  gathered  his  fa- 
ther's cold,  twitching  fingers  in  his 
firm,  warm  grasp. 

"Hernias,  life  is  passing — long,  rich, 
prosperous;  the  last  sands,  I  cannot 
stay  them.  My  religion,  a  good  pol- 
icy— Julian  was  my  friend.  But  now 
he  is  gone — where  ?  My  soul  is  empty 
— nothing  beyond — very  dark — I  am 
afraid.  But  you  know  something 
better.  You  found  something  that 
made  you  willing  to  give  up  your 
life  for  it — it  must  have  been  almost 
like  dying — yet  you  were  happy. 
What  was  it  you  found?  See,  I  am 
giving  you  everything.  I  have  for- 

42 


PARTING,  BUT  NO  FAREWELL 

given  you.  Now  forgive  me.  Tell  me, 
what  is  it  ?  Your  secret,  your  faith — 
give  it  to  me  before  I  go." 

At  the  sound  of  this  broken  plead- 
ing a  strange  passion  of  pity  and 
love  took  the  young  man  by  the 
throat.  His  voice  shook  a  little  as 
he  answered  eagerly: 

"Father,  there  is  nothing  to  for- 
give. I  am  your  son;  I  will  gladly  tell 
you  all  that  I  know.  I  will  give  you 
the  secret  of  faith.  Father,  you  must 
believe  with  all  your  heart,  and  soul, 
and  strength  in — 

Where  was  the  word — the  word 
that  he  had  been  used  to  utter  night 
and  morning,  the  word  that  had 
meant  to  him  more  than  he  had  ever 
known  ?  What  had  become  of  it  ? 

He  groped  for  it  in  the  dark  room 
of  his  mind.  He  had  thought  he 

43 


THE  LOST  WORD 

could  lay  his  hand  upon  it  in  a  mo- 
ment, but  it  was  gone.  Some  one 
had  taken  it  away.  Everything  else 
was  most  clear  to  him:  the  terror  of 
death;  the  lonely  soul  appealing 
from  his  father's  eyes;  the  instant 
need  of  comfort  and  help.  But  at 
the  one  point  where  he  looked  for 
help  he  could  find  nothing;  only  an 
empty  space.  The  word  of  hope  had 
vanished.  He  felt  for  it  blindly  and 
in  desperate  haste. 

"Father,  wait!  I  have  forgotten 
something — it  has  slipped  away  from 
me.  I  shall  find  it  in  a  moment.  There 
is  hope — I  will  tell  you  presently — 
oh,  wait!" 

The  bony  hand  gripped  his  like  a 
vice;  the  glazed  eyes  opened  wider. 
"Tell  me,"  whispered  the  old  man; 
"tell  me  quickly,  for  I  must  go." 


PARTING,  BUT  NO  FAREWELL 

The  voice  sank  into  a  dull  rattle. 
The  fingers  closed  once  more,  and 
relaxed.  The  light  behind  the  eyes 
went  out. 

Hernias,  the  master  of  the  House 
of  the  Golden  Pillars,  was  keeping 
watch  by  the  dead. 


45 


IV 
LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 


IV 

THE  break  with  the  old  life  was  as 
clean  as  if  it  had  been  cut  with  a 
knife.  Some  faint  image  of  a  hermit's 
cell,  a  bare  lodging  in  a  back  street 
of  Antioch,  a  class-room  full  of  ear- 
nest students,  remained  in  Hernias' 
memory.  Some  dull  echo  of  the  voice 
of  John  the  Presbyter,  and  the  mea- 
sured sound  of  chanting,  and  the 
murmur  of  great  congregations,  still 
lingered  in  his  ears;  but  it  was  like 
something  that  had  happened  to 
another  person,  something  that  he 
had  read  long  ago,  but  of  which  he 
had  lost  the  meaning. 

His  new  life  was  full  and  smooth 
and  rich — too  rich  for  any  sense  of 

49 


THE  LOST  WORD 

loss  to  make  itself  felt.  There  were 
a  hundred  affairs  to  busy  him,  and 
the  days  ran  swiftly  by  as  if  they 
were  shod  with  winged  sandals. 

Nothing  needed  to  be  considered, 
prepared  for,  begun.  Everything  was 
ready  and  waiting  for  him.  All  that 
he  had  to  do  was  to  go  on  with  it. 
The  estate  of  Demetrius  was  even 
greater  than  the  world  had  supposed. 
There  were  fertile  lands  in  Syria 
which  the  emperor  had  given  him, 
marble-quarries  in  Phrygia,  and  for- 
ests of  valuable  timber  in  Cilicia; 
the  vaults  of  the  villa  contained 
chests  of  gold  and  silver;  the  secret 
cabinets  in  the  master's  room  were 
full  of  precious  stones.  The  stewards 
were  diligent  and  faithful.  The  ser- 
vants of  the  magnificent  household 
rejoiced  at  the  young  master's  re- 

50 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

turn.  His  table  was  spread;  the  rose- 
garland  of  pleasure  was  woven  for 
his  head,  and  his  cup  was  already 
filled  with  the  spicy  wine  of  power. 

The  period  of  mourning  for  his 
father  came  at  a  fortunate  moment, 
to  seclude  and  safeguard  him  from 
the  storm  of  political  troubles  and 
persecutions  that  fell  upon  Antioch 
after  the  insults  offered  by  the  mob 
to  the  imperial  statues  in  the  year 
387.  The  friends  of  Demetrius,  pru- 
dent and  conservative  persons,  gath- 
ered around  Hernias  and  made  him 
welcome  to  their  circle.  Chief  among 
them  was  Libanius,  the  sophist,  his 
nearest  neighbour,  whose  daughter 
Athenais  had  been  the  playmate  of 
Hernias  in  the  old  days. 

He  had  left  her  a  child.  He  found 

her  a  beautiful  \voman.  What  trans- 

51 


THE  LOST   WORD 

formation  is  so  magical,  so  charming, 
as  this  ?  To  see  the  uncertain  lines  of 
youth  rounded  into  firmness  and 
symmetry,  to  discover  the  half-ripe, 
merry,  changing  face  of  the  girl 
matured  into  perfect  loveliness,  and 
looking  at  you  with  calm,  clear, 
serious  eyes,  not  forgetting  the  past, 
but  fully  conscious  of  the  changed 
present — this  is  to  behold  a  miracle 
in  the  flesh. 

"Where  have  you  been,  these  two 
years?"  said  Athenais,  as  they 
walked  together  through  the  garden 
of  lilies  where  they  had  so  often 
played. 

"In  a  land  of  tiresome  dreams,"  an- 
swered Hernias;  "but  you  have  wak- 
ened me,  and  I  am  never  going  back 
again." 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the 

52 


LOVE  IN   SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

sudden  disappearance  of  Hernias 
from  among  his  former  associates 
could  long  remain  unnoticed.  At  first 
it  was  a  mystery.  There  was  a  fear, 
for  two  or  three  days,  that  he  might 
be  lost.  Some  of  his  more  intimate 
companions  maintained  that  his  de- 
votion had  led  him  out  into  the  des- 
ert to  join  the  anchorites.  But  the 
news  of  his  return  to  the  House  of 
the  Golden  Pillars,  and  of  his  new 
life  as  its  master,  filtered  quickly 
through  the  gossip  of  the  city. 
Then  the  church  was  filled  with  dis- 
may and  grief  and  reproach.  Mes- 
sengers and  letters  wrere  sent  to  Her- 
nias. They  disturbed  him  a  little, 
but  they  took  no  hold  upon  him.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  messengers 
spoke  in  a  strange  language.  As  he 
read  the  letters  there  were  words 

53 


THE  LOST  WORD 

blotted  out  of  the  writing  which 
made  the  full  sense  unintelligible. 

His  old  companions  came  to  re- 
prove him  for  leaving  them,  to  warn 
him  of  the  peril  of  apostasy,  to  en- 
treat him  to  return.  It  all  sounded 
vague  and  futile.  They  spoke  as  if 
he  had  betrayed  or  offended  some 
one;  but  when  they  came  to  name 
the  object  of  his  fear — the  one  whom 
he  had  displeased,  and  to  whom  he 
should  return — he  heard  nothing; 
there  was  a  blur  of  silence  in  their 
speech.  The  clock  pointed  to  the 
hour,  but  the  bell  did  not  strike.  At 
last  Hernias  refused  to  see  them  any 
more. 

One  day  John  the  Presbyter  stood 
in  the  atrium.  Hernias  was  enter- 
taining Libanius  and  Athenais  in  the 
banquet-hall.  When  the  visit  of  the 

54 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

Presbyter  was  announced,  the  young 
master  loosed  a  collar  of  gold  and 
jewels  from  his  neck,  and  gave  it  to 
his  scribe. 

"Take  this  to  John  of  Antioch,  and 
tell  him  it  is  a  gift  from  his  former 
pupil — as  a  token  of  remembrance, 
or  to  spend  for  the  poor  of  the  city. 
I  will  always  send  him  what  he  wants, 
but  it  is  idle  for  us  to  talk  together 
any  more.  I  do  not  understand  what 
he  says.  I  have  not  gone  to  the  tem- 
ple, nor  offered  sacrifice,  nor  denied 
his  teaching.  I  have  simply  forgotten. 
I  do  not  think  about  those  things  any 
longer.  I  am  only  living.  A  happy 
man  wishes  him  all  happiness  and 
farewell." 

But  John  let  the  golden  collar  fall  on 
the  marble  floor.  "Tell  your  master 
that  we  shall  talk  together  again, 

55 


THE  LOST  WORD 

after  all,"  said  he,  as  he  passed  sadly 
out  of  the  hall. 

The  love  of  Athenais  and  Hernias 
was  like  a  tiny  rivulet  that  sinks  out 
of  sight  in  a  cavern,  but  emerges 
again  as  a  bright  and  brimming 
stream.  The  careless  comradery  of 
childhood  was  mysteriously  changed 
into  a  complete  companionship. 

When  Athenais  entered  the  House 
of  the  Golden  Pillars  as  a  bride,  all 
the  music  of  life  came  with  her. 
Hernias  called  the  feast  of  her  wel- 
come "the  banquet  of  the  full 
chord."  Day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  week  after  week,  month  after 
month,  the  bliss  of  the  home  un- 
folded like  a  rose  of  a  thousand 
leaves.  When  a  child  came  to  them, 
a  strong,  beautiful  boy,  worthy  to 
be  the  heir  of  such  a  house,  the  heart 

56 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

of  the  rose  was  filled  with  overflow- 
ing fragrance.  Happiness  was  heaped 
upon  happiness.  Every  wish  brought 
its  own  accomplishment.  Wealth, 
honour,  beauty,  peace,  love — it  was 
an  abundance  of  felicity  so  great 
that  the  soul  of  Hernias  could  hardly 
contain  it. 

Strangely  enough,  it  began  to  press 
upon  him,  to  trouble  him  with  the 
very  excess  of  joy.  He  felt  as  if  there 
were  something  yet  needed  to  com- 
plete and  secure  it  all.  There  was  an 
urgency  within  him,  a  longing  to  find 
some  outlet  for  his  feelings,  he  knew 
not  how — some  expression  and  cul- 
mination of  his  happiness,  he  knew 
not  what. 

Under  his  joyous  demeanour  a  se- 
cret fire  of  restlessness  began  to  burn 
— an  expectancy  of  something  yet  to 
57 


THE  LOST  WORD 

come  which  should  put  the  touch  of 
perfection  on  his  life.  He  spoke  of  it 
to  Athenais,  as  they  sat  together, 
one  summer  evening,  in  a  bower  of 
jasmine,  with  their  boy  playing  at 
their  feet.  There  had  been  music  in 
the  garden;  but  now  the  singers  and 
lute-players  had  withdrawn,  leaving 
the  master  and  mistress  alone  in  the 
lingering  twilight,  tremulous  with  in- 
articulate melody  of  unseen  birds. 
There  was  a  secret  voice  in  the  hour 
seeking  vainly  for  utterance — a  word 
waiting  to  be  spoken  at  the  centre 
of  the  charm. 

"How  deep  is  our  happiness,  my 
beloved!"  said  Hernias;  "deeper 
than  the  sea  that  slumbers  yonder, 
below  the  city.  And  yet  I  feel  it  is 
not  quite  full  and  perfect.  There  is  a 
depth  of  joy  that  we  have  not  yet 
58 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

known — a  repose  of  happiness  that 
is  still  beyond  us.  What  is  it  ?  I  have 
no  superstitious  fears,  like  the  king 
who  cast  his  signet-ring  into  the  sea 
because  he  dreaded  that  some  secret 
vengeance  would  fall  on  his  unbroken 
good  fortune.  That  was  an  idle  terror. 
But  there  is  something  that  oppresses 
me  like  an  invisible  burden.  There 
is  something  still  undone,  unspoken, 
unfelt — something  that  we  need  to 
complete  everything.  Have  you  not 
felt  it,  too  ?  Can  you  not  lead  me  to 
it?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  lifting  her 
eyes  to  his  face;  "I,  too,  have  felt  it, 
Hernias,  this  burden,  this  need,  this 
unsatisfied  longing.  I  think  I  know 
what  it  means.  It  is  gratitude — the 
language  of  the  heart,  the  music  of 
happiness.  There  is  no  perfect  joy 

59 


THE  LOST  WORD 

without  gratitude.  But  we  have  never 
learned  it,  and  the  want  of  it  troubles 
us.  It  is  like  being  dumb  with  a  heart 
full  of  love.  We  must  find  the  word 
for  it,  and  say  it  together.  Then  we 
shall  be  perfectly  joined  in  perfect 
joy.  Come,  my  dear  lord,  let  us  take 
the  boy  with  us,  and  give  thanks." 

Hernias  lifted  the  child  in  his  arms, 
and  turned  with  Athenais  into  the 
depth  of  the  garden.  There  was  a 
dismantled  shrine  of  some  forgotten 
fashion  of  worship  half  hidden  among 
the  luxuriant  flowers.  A  fallen  image 
lay  beside  it,  face  downward  in  the 
grass.  They  stood  there,  hand  in 
hand,  the  boy  drowsily  resting  on  his 
father's  shoulder — a  threefold  har- 
mony of  strength  and  beauty  and  in- 
nocence. 

Silently  the  roseate  light  caressed 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

the  tall  spires  of  the  cypress-trees; 
silently  the  shadows  gathered  at 
their  feet;  silently  the  crystal  stars 
looked  out  from  the  deepening  arch 
of  heaven.  The  very  breath  of  being 
paused.  It  was  the  hour  of  culmina- 
tion, the  supreme  moment  of  felicity 
waiting  for  its  crown.  The  tones  of 
Hernias  were  clear  and  -low  as  he  be- 
gan, half  speaking  and  half  chanting, 
in  the  rhythm  of  an  ancient  song: 

"Fair  is  the  world,  the  sea,  the  sky, 
the  double  kingdom  of  day  and 
night,  in  the  glow  of  morning,  in  the 
shadow  of  evening,  and  under  the 
dripping  light  of  stars. 

"Fairer  still  is  life  in  our  breasts, 
with  its  manifold  music  and  meaning, 
with  its  wonder  of  seeing  and  hearing 
and  feeling  and  knowing  and  being. 

"Fairer  and  still  more  fair  is  love, 

61 


THE  LOST  WORD 

that  draws  us  together,  mingles  our 
lives  in  its  flow,  and  bears  them 
along  like  a  river,  strong  and  clear 
and  swift,  reflecting  the  stars  in  its 
bosom. 

"Wide  is  our  world;  we  are  rich; 
we  have  all  things.  Life  is  abundant 
within  us — a  measureless  deep.  Deep- 
est of  all  is  our  love,  and  it  longs  to 
speak. 

"Come,  thou  final  word!  Come, 
thou  crown  of  speech !  Come,  thou 
charm  of  peace !  Open  the  gates  of 
our  hearts.  Lift  the  weight  of  our  joy 
and  bear  it  upward. 

"For  all  good  gifts,  for  all  perfect 
gifts,  for  love,  for  life,  for  the  world, 
we  praise,  we  bless,  we  thank — " 

As  a  soaring  bird,  struck  by  an  ar- 
row, falls  headlong  from  the  sky,  so 
the  song  of  Hernias  fell.  At  the  end 


LOVE  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  WORD 

of  his  flight  of  gratitude  there  was 
nothing — a  blank,  a  hollow  space. 

He  looked  for  a  face,  and  saw  a 
void.  He  sought  for  a  hand,  and 
clasped  vacancy.  His  heart  was  throb- 
bing and  swelling  with  passion;  the 
bell  swung  to  and  fro  within  him, 
beating  from  side  to  side  as  if  it 
would  burst;  but  not  a  single  note 
came  from  it.  All  the  fulness  of  his 
feeling,  that  had  risen  upward  like  a 
living  fountain,  fell  back  from  the 
empty  sky,  as  cold  as  snow,  as  hard 
as  hail,  frozen  and  dead.  There  was 
no  meaning  in  his  happiness.  No  one 
had  sent  it  to  him.  There  was  no  one 
to  thank  for  it.  His  felicity  was  a 
closed  circle,  a  wall  of  eternal  ice. 

"Let  us  go  back,"  he  said  sadly  to 
Athenais;  "the  child  is  heavy  upon 
my  shoulder.  We  will  lay  him  to 

63 


THE  LOST  WORD 

sleep,  and  go  into  the  library.  The 
air  grows  chilly.  We  were  mistaken. 
The  gratitude  of  life  is  only  a  dream. 
There  is  no  one  to  thank." 

And  in  the  garden  it  was  already 
night. 


V 
RICHES  WITHOUT  REST 


No  outward  change  came  to  the 
House  of  the  Golden  Pillars.  Every- 
thing moved  as  smoothly,  as  deli- 
cately, as  prosperously,  as  before. 
But  inwardly  there  was  a  subtle, 
inexplicable  transformation.  A  vague 
discontent,  a  final  and  inevitable 
sense  of  incompleteness,  overshad- 
owed existence  from  that  night  when 
Hernias  realized  that  his  joy  could 
never  go  beyond  itself. 
The  next  morning  the  old  man 
whom  he  had  seen  in  the  Grove  of 
Daphne,  but  never  since,  appeared 
mysteriously  at  the  door  of  the 
house,  as  if  he  had  been  sent  for, 
and  entered,  to  dwell  there  like  an 
invited  guest. 

67 


THE  LOST  WORD 

Hermas  could  not  but  make  him 
welcome,  and  at  first  he  tried  to  re- 
gard him  with  reverence  and  affec- 
tion as  the  one  through  whom  for- 
tune had  come.  But  it  was  impossible. 
There  was  a  chill  in  the  inscrutable 
smile  of  Marcion,  as  he  called  him- 
self, that  seemed  to  mock  at  rever- 
ence. He  was  in  the  house  as  one 
watching  a  strange  experiment — 
tranquil,  interested,  ready  to  supply 
anything  that  might  be  needed  for 
its  completion,  but  thoroughly  in- 
different to  the  feelings  of  the  sub- 
ject; an  anatomist  of  life,  looking 
curiously  to  see  how  long  it  would 
continue,  and  how  it  would  behave, 
after  the  heart  had  been  removed. 

In  his  presence  Hermas  was  con- 
scious of  a  certain  irritation,  a  re- 
sentful anger  against  the  calm,  frigid 


RICHES  WITHOUT  REST 

scrutiny  of  the  eyes  that  followed 
him  everywhere,  like  a  pair  of  spies, 
peering  out  over  the  smiling  mouth 
and  the  long  white  beard. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  curi- 
ously?" asked  Hernias,  one  morn- 
ing, as  they  sat  together  in  the  li- 
brary. "Do  you  see  anything  strange 
in  me?" 

"No,"  answrered  Marcion;  "some- 
thing familiar." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"A  singular  likeness  to  a  discon- 
tented young  man  that  I  met  some 
years  ago  in  the  Grove  of  Daphne." 

"But  why  should  that  interest 
you  ?  Surely  it  was  to  be  expected." 

"A  thing  that  we  expect  often  sur- 
prises us  when  we  see  it.  Besides,  my 
curiosity  is  piqued.  I  suspect  you 
of  keeping  a  secret  from  me." 


THE  LOST  WORD 

"You  are  jesting  with  me.  There 
is  nothing  in  my  life  that  you  do 
not  know.  What  is  the  secret?" 

"Nothing  more  than  the  wish  to 
have  one.  You  are  growing  tired  of 
your  bargain.  The  game  wearies  you. 
That  is  foolish.  Do  you  want  to  try 
a  new  part?" 

The  question  was  like  a  mirror 
upon  which  one  comes  suddenly  in 
a  half -lighted  room.  A  quick  illu- 
mination falls  on  it,  and  the  passer- 
by is  startled  by  the  look  of  his  own 
face. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Hernias.  "I 
am  tired.  We  have  been  going  on 
stupidly  in  this  house,  as  if  nothing 
were  possible  but  what  my  father 
had  done  before  me.  There  is  noth- 
ing original  in  being  rich,  and  well 
fed,  and  well  dressed.  Thousands  of 

70 


RICHES  WITHOUT  REST 

men  have  tried  it,  and  have  not  been 
very  well  satisfied.  Let  us  do  some- 
thing new.  Let  us  make  a  mark  in 
the  world." 

"It  is  well  said,"  nodded  the  old 
man;  "you  are  speaking  again  like 
a  man  after  my  own  heart.  There  is 
no  folly  but  the  loss  of  an  opportu- 
nity to  enjoy  a  new  sensation." 

From  that  day  Hernias  seemed  to 
be  possessed  with  a  perpetual  haste, 
an  uneasiness  that  left  him  no  repose. 
The  summit  of  life  had  been  at- 
tained, the  highest  possible  point  of 
felicity.  Henceforward  the  course 
could  only  be  at  a  level — perhaps 
downward.  It  might  be  brief;  at  the 
best  it  could  not  be  very  long.  It 
was  madness  to  lose  a  day,  an  hour. 
That  would  be  the  only  fatal  mis- 
take: to  forfeit  anything  of  the  bar- 
71 


THE  LOST  WORD 

gain  that  he  had  made.  He  would 
have  it,  and  hold  it,  and  enjoy  it 
all  to  the  full.  The  world  might  have 
nothing  better  to  give  than  it  had 
already  given;  but  surely  it  had 
many  things  that  were  new  to  be- 
stow upon  him,  and  Marcion  should 
help  him  to  find  them. 

Under  his  learned  counsel  the  House 
of  the  Golden  Pillars  took  on  a  new 
magnificence.  Artists  were  brought 
from  Corinth  and  Rome  and  Byzan- 
tium to  adorn  it  with  splendour.  Its 
fame  glittered  around  the  world. 
Banquets  of  incredible  luxury  drew 
the  most  celebrated  guests  into  its 
triclinium,  and  filled  them  with  en- 
vious admiration.  The  bees  swarmed 
and  buzzed  about  the  golden  hive. 
The  human  insects,  gorgeous  moths 
of  pleasure  and  greedy  flies  of  ap- 
72 


RICHES  WITHOUT  REST 

petite,  parasites  and  flatterers  and 
crowds  of  inquisitive  idlers,  danced 
and  fluttered  in  the  dazzling  light 
that  surrounded  Hernias. 

Everything  that  he  touched  pros- 
pered. He  bought  a  tract  of  land 
in  the  Caucasus,  and  emeralds  were 
discovered  among  the  mountains. 
He  sent  a  fleet  of  wheat-ships  to 
Italy,  and  the  price  of  grain  doubled 
while  it  was  on  the  way.  He  sought 
political  favour  with  the  emperor, 
and  was  rewarded  with  the  gover- 
norship of  the  city.  His  name  was  a 
word  to  conjure  with. 

The  beauty  of  Athenais  lost  noth- 
ing with  the  passing  seasons,  but 
grew  more  perfect,  even  under  the 
inexplicable  shade  of  dissatisfaction 
that  sometimes  veiled  it  as  a  trans- 
lucent cloud  that  passes  before  the 
73 


THE  LOST  WORD 

full  moon.  "Fair  as  the  wife  of  Her- 
mas"  was  a  proverb  in  Antioch;  and 
soon  men  began  to  add  to  it,  "Beau- 
tiful as  the  son  of  Hermas";  for  the 
child  developed  swiftly  in  that  fa- 
vouring clime.  At  nine  years  of  age 
he  was  straight  and  strong,  firm  of 
limb  and  clear  of  eye.  His  brown  head 
was  on  a  level  with  his  father's  heart. 
He  was  the  jewel  of  the  House  of  the 
Golden  Pillars;  the  pride  of  Hermas, 
the  new  Fortunatus. 
That  year  another  drop  of  success 
fell  into  his  brimming  cup.  His 
black  Numidian  horses,  which  he 
had  been  training  for  three  years  for 
the  world-renowned  chariot-races  of 
Antioch,  won  the  victory  over  a 
score  of  rivals.  Hermas  received  the 
prize  carelessly  from  the  judge's 
hands,  and  turned  to  drive  once 

74 


RICHES  WITHOUT  REST 

more  around  the  circus,  to  show 
himself  to  the  people.  He  lifted  the 
eager  boy  into  the  chariot  beside 
him  to  share  his  triumph. 

Here,  indeed,  was  the  glory  of  his 
life — this  matchless  son,  his  brighter 
counterpart  carved  in  breathing 
ivory,  touching  his  arm,  and  bal- 
ancing himself  proudly  on  the  sway- 
ing floor  of  the  chariot.  As  the  horses 
pranced  around  the  ring,  a  great 
shout  of  applause  filled  the  amphi- 
theatre, and  thousands  of  spectators 
waved  their  salutations  of  praise: 
"Hail,  fortunate  Hernias,  master  of 
success !  Hail,  little  Hernias,  prince 
of  good  luck !" 

The  sudden  tempest  of  acclama- 
tion, the  swift  fluttering  of  innumer- 
able garments  in  the  air,  startled  the 
horses.  They  dashed  violently  for- 
75 


THE  LOST  WORD 

ward,  and  plunged  upon  the  bits. 
The  left  rein  broke.  They  swerved 
to  the  right,  swinging  the  chariot 
sideways  with  a  grating  noise,  and 
dashing  it  against  the  stone  parapet 
of  the  arena.  In  an  instant  the  wheel 
was  shattered.  The  axle  struck  the 
ground,  and  the  chariot  was  dragged 
onward,  rocking  and  staggering. 

By  a  strenuous  effort  Hernias  kept 
his  place  on  the  frail  platform,  cling- 
ing to  the  unbroken  rein.  But  the 
boy  was  tossed  lightly  from  his  side 
at  the  first  shock.  His  head  struck 
the  wall.  And  when  Hernias  turned 
to  look  for  him,  he  was  lying  like  a 
broken  flower  on  the  sand. 


7G 


VI 

GREAT  FEAR  AND  RECOV- 
ERED JOY 


VI 

THEY  carried  the  boy  in  a  litter  to 
the  House  of  the  Golden  Pillars, 
summoning  the  most  skilful  physi- 
cian of  Antioch  to  attend  him.  For 
hours  the  child  was  as  quiet  as  death. 
Hermas  watched  the  white  eyelids, 
folded  close  like  lily-buds  at  night, 
even  as  one  watches  for  the  morn- 
ing. At  last  they  opened;  but  the 
fire  of  fever  was  burning  in  the  eyes, 
and  the  lips  were  moving  in  a  wild 
delirium. 

Hour  after  hour  that  sweet  child- 
ish voice  rang  through  the  halls  and 
chambers  of  the  splendid,  helpless 
house,  now  rising  in  shrill  calls  of 
distress  and  senseless  laughter,  now 

79 


THE  LOST  WORD 

sinking  in  weariness  and  dull  moan- 
ing. The  stars  waxed  and  waned;  the 
sun  rose  and  set;  the  roses  bloomed 
and  fell  in  the  garden ;  the  birds  sang 
and  slept  among  the  jasmine-bowers. 
But  in  the  heart  of  Hernias  there 
was  no  song,  no  bloom,  no  light — 
only  speechless  anguish,  and  a  cer- 
tain fearful  looking-for  of  desolation. 

He  was  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare. 
He  saw  the  shapeless  terror  that  was 
moving  toward  him,  but  he  was  im- 
potent to  stay  or  to  escape  it.  He 
had  done  all  that  he  could.  There 
was  nothing  left  but  to  wait. 

He  paced  to  and  fro,  now  hurrying 
to  the  boy's  bed  as  if  he  could  not 
bear  to  be  away  from  it,  now  turn- 
ing back  as  if  he  could  not  endure 
to  be  near  it.  The  people  of  the 
house,  even  Athenais,  feared  to  speak 

80 


GREAT  FEAR  AND   RECOVERED  JOY 

to  him,  there  was  something  so  va- 
cant and  desperate  in  his  face. 

At  nightfall,  on  the  second  of  those 
eternal  days,  he  shut  himself  in  the 
library.  The  unfilled  lamp  had  gone 
out,  leaving  a  trail  of  smoke  in  the 
air.  The  sprigs  of  mignonette  and 
rosemary,  with  which  the  room  was 
sprinkled  every  day,  were  unre- 
newed,  and  scented  the  gloom  with  a 
close  odor  of  decay.  A  costly  manu- 
script of  Theocritus  was  tumbled  in 
disorder  on  the  floor.  Hernias  sank 
into  a  chair  like  a  man  in  whom  the 
very  spring  of  being  is  broken. 
Through  the  darkness  some  one 
drew  near.  He  did  not  even  lift  his 
head.  A  hand  touched  him;  a  soft 
arm  was  laid  over  his  shoulders.  It 
was  Athenais,  kneeling  beside  him 
and  speaking  very  low: 
81 


THE  LOST  WORD 

"Hermas — it  is  almost  over — the 
child !  His  voice  grows  weaker  hour 
by  hour.  He  moans  and  calls  for 
some  one  to  help  him;  then  he 
laughs.  It  breaks  my  heart.  He  has 
just  fallen  asleep.  The  moon  is  rising 
now.  Unless  a  change  comes  he  can- 
not last  till  sunrise.  Is  there  nothing 
we  can  do?  Is  there  no  power  that 
can  save  him?  Is  there  no  one  to 
pity  us  and  spare  us?  Let  us  call, 
let  us  beg  for  compassion  and  help; 
let  us  pray  for  his  life !" 

Yes;  that  was  what  he  wanted — 
that  was  the  only  thing  that  could 
bring  relief:  to  pray;  to  pour  out  his 
sorrow  somewhere;  to  find  a  greater 
strength  than  his  own,  and  cling  to 
it  and  plead  for  mercy  and  help.  To 
leave  that  undone  was  to  be  false 
to  his  manhood;  it  was  to  be  no 

82 


GREAT  FEAR  AND  RECOVERED  JOY 

better  than  the  dumb  beasts  when 
their  young  perish.  How  could  he 
let  his  boy  suffer  and  die,  without 
an  effort,  a  cry,  a  prayer? 

He  sank  on  his  knees  beside  Athe- 
nais. 

"Out  of  the  depths— out  of  the 
depths  we  call  for  pity.  The  light  of 
our  eyes  is  fading — the  child  is  dy- 
ing. Oh,  the  child,  the  child !  Spare 
the  child's  life,  thou  merciful — 

Not  a  word;  only  that  deathly 
blank.  The  hands  of  Hermas, 
stretched  out  in  supplication,  touched 
the  marble  table.  He  felt  the  cool 
hardness  of  the  polished  stone  be- 
neath his  fingers.  A  book,  dislodged 
by  his  touch,  fell  rustling  to  the 
floor.  Through  the  open  door,  faint 
and  far  off,  came  the  footsteps  of  the 
servants,  moving  cautiously.  The 


THE  LOST  WORD 

heart  of  Hermas  was  like  a  lump  of 
ice  in  his  bosom.  He  rose  slowly  to 
his  feet,  lifting  Athenais  with  him. 

"It  is  in  vain,"  he  said;  "there  is 
nothing  for  us  to  do.  Long  ago  I 
knew  something.  I  think  it  would 
have  helped  us.  But  I  have  forgotten 
it.  It  is  all  gone.  But  I  would  give  all 
that  I  have  if  I  could  bring  it  back 
again  now,  at  this  hour,  in  this  time 
of  our  bitter  trouble." 

A  slave  entered  the  room  while  he 
was  speaking,  and  approached  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"Master,"  he  said,  "John  of  An- 
tioch,  whom  we  were  forbidden  to 
admit  to  the  house,  has  come  again. 
He  would  take  no  denial.  Even 
now  he  waits  in  the  peristyle;  and 
the  old  man  Marcion  is  with  him, 
seeking  to  turn  him  away." 

84 


GREAT  FEAR  AND   RECOVERED  JOY 

"Come,"  said  Hermas  to  his  wife, 
"let  us  go  to  him;  for  I  think  I  see 
the  beginning  of  a  way  that  may  lead 
us  out  of  this  dreadful  darkness." 

In  the  central  hall  the  two  men 
were  standing;  Marcion,  with  dis- 
dainful eyes  and  sneering  lips,  taunt- 
ing the  unbidden  guest  to  depart; 
John  silent,  quiet,  patient,  while 
the  wondering  slaves  looked  on  in 
dismay.  He  lifted  his  searching  gaze 
to  the  haggard  face  of  Hermas. 

"My  son,  I  knew  that  I  should  see 
you  again,  even  though  you  did  not 
send  for  me.  I  have  come  to  you  be- 
cause I  have  heard  that  you  are  in 
trouble." 

"It    is    true,"    answered    Hermas, 

passionately;    "we    are    in    trouble, 

desperate  trouble,  trouble  accursed. 

Our  child  is  dying.  We  are  poor,  we 

85 


THE  LOST  WORD 

are  destitute,  we  are  afflicted.  In  all 
this  house,  in  all  the  world,  there  is 
no  one  that  can  help  us.  I  knew 
something  long  ago,  when  I  was 
with  you, — a  word,  a  name, — in 
which  we  might  have  found  hope. 
But  I  have  lost  it.  I  gave  it  to  this 
man.  He  has  taken  it  away  from  me 
forever." 

He  pointed  to  Marcion.  The  old 
man's  lips  curled  scornfully.  "A  word, 
a  name!"  he  sneered.  "What  is 
that,  O  most  wise  and  holy  Pres- 
byter? A  thing  of  air,  an  unreal 
thing  that  men  make  to  describe 
their  own  dreams  and  fancies.  Who 
would  go  about  to  rob  any  one  of 
such  a  thing  as  that  ?  It  is  a  prize 
that  only  a  fool  would  think  of  tak- 
ing. Besides,  the  young  man  parted 
with  it  of  his  own  free  will.  He  bar- 


GREAT  FEAR  AND   RECOVERED  JOY 

gained  with  me  cleverly.  I  promised 
him  wealth  and  pleasure  and  fame. 
What  did  he  give  in  return?  An 
empty  name,  which  was  a  burden — 

"Servant  of  demons,  be  still!" 
The  voice  of  John  rang  clear,  like  a 
trumpet,  through  the  hall.  "There  is 
a  name  which  none  shall  dare  to  take 
in  vain.  There  is  a  name  which  none 
can  lose  without  being  lost.  There  is 
a  name  at  which  the  devils  tremble. 
Depart  quickly,  before  I  speak  it!" 

Marcion  had  shrunk  into  the  shad- 
ow of  one  of  the  pillars.  A  bright 
lamp  near  him  tottered  on  its  ped- 
estal and  fell  with  a  crash.  In  the 
confusion  he  vanished,  as  noiselessly 
as  a  shade. 

John  turned  to  Hermas,  and  his 
tone  softened  as  he  said:  "My  son, 
you  have  sinned  deeper  than  you 

87 


THE  LOST  WORD 

know.  The  word  with  which  you 
parted  so  lightly  is  the  key-word  of 
all  life  and  joy  and  peace.  Without 
it  the  world  has  no  meaning,  and 
existence  no  rest,  and  death  no 
refuge.  It  is  the  word  that  purifies 
love,  and  comforts  grief,  and  keeps 
hope  alive  forever.  It  is  the  most 
precious  thing  that  ever  ear  has 
heard,  or  mind  has  known,  or  heart 
has  conceived.  It  is  the  name  of 
Him  who  has  given  us  life  and  breath 
and  all  things  richly  to  enjoy;  the 
name  of  Him  who,  though  we  may 
forget  Him,  never  forgets  us;  the 
name  of  Him  who  pities  us  as  you 
pity  your  suffering  child;  the  name 
of  Him  who,  though  we  wander  far 
from  Him,  seeks  us  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  sent  His  Son,  even  as  His 
Son  has  sent  me  this  night,  to 


GREAT  FEAR  AND  RECOVERED  JOY 

breathe  again  that  forgotten  name 
in  the  heart  that  is  perishing  with- 
out it.  Listen,  my  son,  listen  with 
all  your  soul  to  the  blessed  name  of 
God  our  Father." 

The  cold  agony  in  the  breast  of 
Hernias  dissolved  like  a  fragment  of 
ice  that  melts  in  the  summer  sea. 
A  sense  of  sweet  release  spread 
through  him  from  head  to  foot. 
The  lost  was  found.  The  dew  of  a 
divine  peace  fell  on  his  parched  soul, 
and  the  withering  flower  of  human 
love  lifted  its  head  again.  The  light 
of  a  new  hope  shone  on  his  face.  He 
stood  upright,  and  lifted  his  hands 
high  toward  heaven. 

"Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried 
unto  Thee,  O  Lord !  O  my  God,  be 
merciful  to  me,  for  my  soul  trusteth 
in  Thee.  My  God,  Thou  hast  given; 

89 


THE  LOST  WORD 

take  not  Thy  gift  away  from  me,  O 
my  God!  Spare  the  life  of  this  my 
child,  O  Thou  God,  my  Father,  my 
Father!" 

A  deep  hush  followed  the  cry. 
"Listen!"  whispered  Athenais, 
breathlessly. 

Was  it  an  echo  ?  It  could  not  be,  for 
it  came  again — the  voice  of  the  child, 
clear  and  low,  waking  from  sleep, 
and  calling:  "My  father,  my  father !" 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


RHTBtD-UWJ 

JUN  0 1 1985 


50m-7,'69(N296s4)—  0-120 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PZ7  .V31I 

y 


L  009  613  287  3 


